The devil you know
by Bond.Jane
Summary: The obligatory tag for "Queen of Hearts". "I'd say then, carelessness, abandonment, neglect… take your pick, Miss Swan. Any will do just fine." "But I… I mean, Henry came to see her and I… I wanted to say thank you. I wanted…." "I'm not sure what you wanted Miss Swan," Though his tone says exactly the opposite. "But the words too little too late occur to me."
1. The devil you know

**Author's note: **This piece has not been betaed. All the mistakes are mine.

I'm sure there are thousands of tags for "Queen of hearts". But, you know, needs must... For all it's worth, here's my two cents worth of opinion. Only because I was **so angry** I wanted to bite pieces out of the lot of them, characters _and_ writers…

Warning: here there be no fluffy goodness.

Much Love

Jane.

The devil you know

Regina feels she is truly going to die, drowning in the magic she summons out of the wishing well. She wants to pass out but there is no kindness in the gods. Not for her, never for her.

She is awake enough to feel the excruciating pain of the magic rushing through her body, moving bones and muscles out of the way, burning, freezing, destroying. She is awake enough to have to apologise to Henry for failing. And she is awake enough to see Emma come out of the well come portal and in less than a second, take her child away from her. She wishes the concentrated magic had been enough. She's had enough.

It is soul crushing to see two people fall into each other's arms, professing their love without so much as a word, especially when you stand outside the circle of their affection, cast out, adrift. It paints a picture clearly to you- of how small you really are, of how much smaller you are becoming with each passing second, like a stone worn out by the water and the wind and time. You're alone, even standing at arm's length of such love.

.

.

Gold is not quite sure whether to feel impressed or lament the stupidity of the woman. Or to rip her head off for it. He understands the lengths a parent will go to for their child. Theoretically. (A little more than that, because he spent centuries manipulating history so that he can mend bridges with his own child, which is a matter for another story.) But Regina is a lost cause. So many years spent grooming her, delicately _adjusting_ the world around her to get to this outcome and all it takes is a boy asking. The irony is not lost in him, really. Regina marches into the wishing well and he knows defeat when he sees it.

It is impressive, the way she walks to the well and stretches out her arms. Devil knows that he did not do the same for his own child. Rather impressive really, because she gives her body to that destructive magic, knowing that the same power that can kill her mother or her nemesis can- and probably will- kill her. Knowing that whether she fails or succeeds, there is no victory for her: she either dies or she loses her son to another woman. Either way, she has just lost.

Stupid. Lamentable. And young Henry stands there asking her to use magic when he spent the last couple of months berating for using it. He stands there like he is entitled to this sacrifice. Not knowing how much of a sacrifice it really is. When she falls dead, maybe he will realise. Or not. People have a nasty habit of seeing only what they want to see, of being blind to the rest. He is, once again, the only one to fully appreciate Regina in this: the bravery, the stupidity, the strength, the sacrifice.

What a shame really that she is of no further use to him.

He leaves her there, of course, because, really, why bother anymore.

He shrugs as he walks home. And then thinks of something else.

.

.

Her hands are burnt, her body is buzzing and shaking still as if she had held on to a live power cable. Her muscles feel disconnected from her bones, all her senses dulled and simultaneously heightened by the surcharge of magic in her body. And all she can think is that doing the right things hurts too much.

Emma Swan and Snow White blurt out sound bites about _doing the right thing_. Everything with them is about _doing the right thing_ and they say it with the abandon of an easy thing. Why is it that for her it was never easy to do that elusive _right thing_?

Her body can barely contain the surcharge of magic. It is wringing and rippling inside of her and it wants to come out. It wants to come out and play. All that magic wants out of her, fragile vessel that she is.

It takes everything in her do the right thing. Literally. To stand there, having just lost everything she holds dear while Snow kisses her ever after sloppily as if this was the happy ending of a film.

Not for her.

"Congratulations." Gold punctuates with his cane. "You just reunited mother and son. Maybe one day, they'll even invite you to dinner." For her it's just the beginning of hell.

.

.

_What about me?_ She nearly whimpers as she is left behind.

.

.

"Congratulations." Gold fondles the handle of his cane. "You just reunited mother and son." The thing with Regina was the value for money entertainment. He can't help himself that one final jibe. Like a movie that makes you laugh and cry at the same time. He feels sorry for her because you do not spend decades closely manipulating someone without feeling at least something. He is human after all. But he can't help himself. It's his nature, that of the scorpion that kills the frog it sits on. He cannot help his parting jab. "Maybe one day, they'll even invite you to dinner." Even as he understands the nature of the irredeemable fracture he's causing. He's like the water that sets in the cracks of a rock and freezes during the winter, breaking it apart.

.

.

Regina stands at the back of the shop seeing them walk out. There is happiness enough to go around. Except it does not touch her. Gold ensures that the truth hits home, not that she wouldn't have seen it for herself, experienced as she is in being walked out on. It's quite beyond her, to hold her tears inside. Not this time. A few sneaky ones manage to escape her control. But when everything inside her is broken and there is no one to see it, why bother?

She walks out of the shop, leaving Henry's blanket behind. There is a finality to that, a symbolism in her mind. She will not hold on to crumbs of anything else. She will learn to be alone without the crutches of old baby blankets.

The town is hers alone. The streets are deserted, all the residents cramming themselves into Granny's to celebrate the saviour's return. The empty streets are hers. She does not notice the incongruent ship docking. She does not feel the change in the air. Which is strange. There was a time she would have known just from the change in the wind. But today she does not see the signs, she does not hear the wind murmur to her the change that has come. The rumble in her ears, the burn in her fingers, the pain in her body is too strong, too intense, a fog that shields the world from her.

They are even then, because the world does not see her.

.

.

Cora sees her daughter. She knows it's her even though she is sporting that ridiculous apparel of this world. A mother always knows her daughter. She wants to run to her, but she bids her time as she has done for the last twenty-eight years. Her daughter needs her, that's all she can think about.

She lands carefully in this Storybrooke of Regina's and can't help but feel a little proud that her creation did this: a world that is fully functional, has rules of its own, a thing of beauty really. Even if she could have done it in a more magnificent fashion, with more aplomb, more flair. No matter. They can still correct all the tiny little mistakes. That's what a mother is for.

She walks down the pier. It is really quite remarkable. All the crudeness of the Enchanted Forest is here a carefully manicured reality. She is really quite proud. Who would have guessed that the little squalling, writhing infant she'd had no idea how to calm down would turn into this nearly perfect, powerful creature?

But her daughter is in pain. She can see it, smell it from where she stands. She always did recognise her daughter's pain, known her threshold, a tool she taught her with. And Regina is near the limit. Cora is glad she is here to make it all better. To make Regina better. She walks to her daughter, hands outstretched, ready to hold her. Ready to console her. A mother always knows best.

.

.

Regina is stumbling blindly along, traipsing the line between alive and dead. If anyone ever told you they're lonely by choice, they'd be lying. Regina would be lying. Having only ever wished for someone to hold with her hands as with her heart, she would not tell you that loneliness is just what's left after trying to join the world. After being betrayed by the people in it. There is still pride in her. She will tell you it's her own design.

There was a fleeting moment of panic, familiar and hard learned that has her head snapping in defensive mode. She knows that smell of baby roses, that _snapcracklepop_ of magic in the air. It is not possible. But her senses are dulled and heightened, sharp and blunt. She thinks of the world she built where she could love unheeded by her mother. And then she is out of time.

She falls into her mother's grasp, cold iron hands gripping her shoulders, stopping her from falling. There is a moment of panic. A moment only until all the decades and worlds between them melt away. A moment only until she stops resisting the pull her mother had on her, on her heart. A moment until that weakness that is her love for her mother overcomes all the years of making herself into what she had wanted to be without Cora.

A moment is all it takes.

Then, she simply slides into her mother's embrace, like the good daughter that she was. Is still. Faithfull, obedient, good daughter. And her mother closes her arms around her and whispers "Mother is here now, Regina. Mother will make it all better."

.

.

Cora's arms close around Regina. She missed her daughter. She missed how she can see her life's work in this one creature, the near perfection of her work. Cora remembers all she endured, all she overcame to have Regina in her arms, not just now, but all the days or her life. And, of course, there will come a time – not so far now- when Regina will have to be disciplined for leaving, for trying to kill her, for trying to get distance between them. But this is not the time. Now, her daughter, her creation, needs her.

She can smell the magic, something wild and violent in her daughter. Something so very powerful though alien in that body. Cora is giddy with the power of that magic. She rubs circles on Regina's back. She knows her daughter's weaknesses well. Nothing has changed. A world apart and nothing has changed. Her work is not done, it's not complete.

"Come along, Regina, dear. I have been on a long journey."

A little distance between their bodies is all Regina needs. A little distance, an inch or two would be enough to remember why having her mother here is not a good thing. But the thought is fleeting because her mother still has her arm in an iron fist and soon, like a spell, she starts to forget why that is. And though she does not understand why, the loneliness the day left in her does not feel so sad, so bitter.

She straightens her back and walks a little straighter, a little less broken. It won't do to be weak in the vicinity of her mother. Her mother wants a strong daughter. Her mother always reminds her of her strength. She is never weak when standing in front of her mother. Not unless it is to bend to her mother's will. But even that thought will fade in a while and all that will be left of it is the need for strength. The years are just melting away.

Her mother takes her arm and the order is implicit and the old fear surfaces again. But it is something familiar and well known. Her heart knows this well. Her heart knows how to live with it, deal with it. Her body knows all the reactions like a familiar song and it is far less scary that it should be. It feels right, as if she was just returning home where everything is familiar, she knows the place of everything. She has a place here. It is not what she wanted for herself. But maybe mother does know best. Maybe mother does know what is best for her.

She will not need to make any decisions, she will not need to struggle to be better. Because mother will show her the way. Mother will take care of her.

Maybe she should have surrendered to this from the beginning. All the struggle for what? So that Emma could have her child cared for while she was away? So that Snow could win? Good always won after all. So why try? Why try to fit into a role that is not hers?

She opens the door with a thought. The magic coursing through her is pleased at having an outlet. It tortures her body a little less. As she moves down her drive way, she spruces up her garden and fixes the broken windows, mends the roof, clears the pathway, repairs her tree. The magic in her is alive and enjoys being used. The hurt and the pain subside. Her mother approves. Her mother enjoys power. She approves. How long has it been since someone has approved of her?

And it's not like anyone will notice and condemn her use of magic.

Her best behaviour is what she knows, something easy and clear. Not this stumbling around trying to do and be better. And always, always failing. Regina is tired of failing.

Cora looks up and down her walls, studying the modern comforts of Storybrooke. "So this is your Henry?" She questions looking at the framed pictures.

"He is not mine."

"That does not sound complicated at all. I was told it was."

Regina simply shakes her head.

"Well, dear, then get rid of it."

_Love is weakness_. "Yes, mother." And without a thought, the pictures are gone, as if they had never been. But something in her face must be telling a different story because her mother simply shrugs as if she had been sighing for a new horse. "If it bothers you, dear, just go and get it. If it's yours, get it back."

.

.

_There is still enough of me to tell mother that I don't want Henry any longer. To sound like a child bored with a toy. It is what I need to do. Then, I surrender. I love you, mother. You are my weakness._

.

.

Henry dreams of a woman arriving on a boat and taking the Evil Queen from him. In the morning, he shakes Emma from her deep slumber. "Mom."

He knows Emma is not accustomed to the title. So he shakes her a bit more and repeats until, in her sleep, she connects the hand that shakes her with the meaning of the word and stumbles into awakeness. "Henry. What is it? Is everything okay?"

It should be, shouldn't it? He is where he has wanted to be all along.

But it is not okay and it's not because Emma does not touch him as a first instinct like his mom does but because he can feel it in the air, the change. And it's nothing good.

"I wanna see my mom."

He sees Emma struggling to become awake. "It's a little early, Henry…" She rubs at her face. "Let's grab some breakfast first and then we can…"  
"Okay." He stops her at the short. "Go back to sleep, Emma." This will be faster if he takes matters in his own hands. It is a testament to how tired Emma is that she falls back into bed and simply closes her eyes. "Just give me five minutes, Kid. Five minutes."

Yeah, okay, five minutes is all he needs, anyway. He grabs his coat and sprints down the stairs. He will be back in less than that; he just needs to make sure.

.

.

It does not give him pause the spick and span state of the house (even if for last 2 months all the disrepair had gone unheeded because his mom was not using magic and no one had it in them to help her fix the damage done by the wraith and the weather and the mob.)

He walks to the door and it opens of its own accord and that yes, gives him a moment of consideration. It's magic, he can feel it. But he is willing to forgive his mom that little slip. She's saved Emma. She's saved his mom and his grandmother and he is willing to cut her some slack.

But when a woman walks down the corridor regarding him as a bug to be crushed, his dream comes alive and he knows the change for what it is: a terrible, terrible thing.

"Well… Henry, I believe." The woman in strange clothes approaches him, her steps slow but menacing, the smile pleasant but terrifying.

"I want to see my mom." Henry summons all his bravery. He is the son of the White Knight, after all. He is brave and he has nothing to fear. But when he looks around, he notices the absence of the pictures of him that his mother keeps. "I want my mom." It comes out as a little whimper.

"Look around you, you silly boy." He does. Nothing about the house has changed. And yet, everything is different, colder, somehow. "You have hurt my daughter. You will not do that again. I am here now."

"I. Want. My. Mom." Henry utters through gritted teeth.

But the Regina that walks down the steps is not his mom. The clothes are the same. The body. The smell. But the walk, the eyes, the hard set of the shoulders are not the same. That is all Evil Queen. "Mom?" He asks in pathetic tentativeness.

The smile on her face is truly terrifying. She circles him like the lions on the National Geographic Channel do, circling their prey. She touches a finger to his face. "Your mother is where you left her, Henry."

"You're my mom too."

That predatory smile never falters, but her finger on his cheek trembles slightly. It tells him a different story. One she will not of her own accord. "Not anymore. Dear."

"What do you mean? You're my mom. You. Are. My. Mom."

"No. You have made that abundantly clear, Henry. Go back home. Your mother will worry." And she walks away from the room, leaving him with Cora.

"Are you quite sure, dear? If you want it, you are welcome to keep it." Cora says. She is willing to take in a pet. She had learnt her daughter has a penchant for squalling brats she never quite understood, but if the time and distance have taught her anything is to be… flexible.

"No, Mother." Regina says on her way out, a slow languorous walk, as if she had all the time in the world.

"But mom! I…"

"You what, Henry?" Regina asks, a sliver of something in her eyes Henry is too young to identify but it looks a lot like hope.

"I…"

"I see." Henry is not too young to put a name to the fleeting expression. It's called hurt. He just doesn't know what to do to make it better. He sees her walking away and even if he comes to live a hundred years, he will never again feel such sadness as the one he feels as the distance between their two bodies grows, his mother walking away from him.

He gets out of the house that was his home and runs, unsure of where to go or what to do. He just runs.

.

.

"Love is weakness, Regina."

"I know, mother. I'm sorry."

"You can be great Regina. You have the makings of greatness in you. Don't let your heart ruin it all for you. You almost did, once."

"I know, mother. I am sorry. It will not happen again."

"I forgive you Regina. I forgive you for trying to have me killed. For pushing me through that mirror." The hand in Regina's arm squeezes cruelly and it is like being injected with liquid pain and fire and sorrow. "For being a disobedient child. I forgive you because I love you. And I am here forever. I will never leave you again. Because I love you."

"I know mother." Regina sighs and it is a disconsolate sound. "You are the only one that does."

Cora gathers her daughter to her. "Yes, I am." And there is glee in her face.

.

.

Will the celebrations and the gifts ever stop? It's lunch time and there are casserole dishes and bottles of wine, flowers and small gifts pilling in Mary Margaret's kitchen. Emma cannot understand why. All she did was save her son and bring herself back from hell. She has done nothing special for anyone specific. And yet, people shower her in affection she still does not how to reciprocate. And where the hell is Henry? She remembers him saying something about his mom. Wanting to see his mom. She was so out of it. He wanted to see his mom. Regina. And it's lunch time and he's not back yet. From a five minute away address. She calls Regina but there is nothing but a ringing tone that connects to nothing, no human voice, no answering machine.

God, Regina. She misses the snark and the snide. She misses the normalcy of that. And what is it with that smile of hers? Emma liked that smile. Such a beautiful smile. How can anyone coming from that mother have such a beautiful smile? Have raised such a beautiful child as Henry? He is probably with her. She should go too. She should go and say thank you properly. She should cook a casserole dish of something warming and inviting and go to her. That's what good people do. They cook too much food and they say _thank you_.

She puts on clean clothes and walks and then runs those five minutes to Regina's door. Forget about the casserole dish. They can do the cooking thing another day. Today she just wants to get there. She wants to see Regina and Henry too, of course. She wants to say thank you properly. Probably even hug it out or something affectionate like that.

But when she gets to the door, it's not Regina that comes greeting nor Henry that comes running. It's Cora. Cora in her Enchanted Forest regalia.

"What have you done to her?" Emma demands. She gets into Cora's personal space. "Where is Regina? What have you done to her?" And she's going to barge in. She's going to push her way past Cora and see for herself the damage that Cora has inflicted on her daughter and she's going to save Regina from that woman because that's what the saviour is supposed to do, to save the ones in need.

The blast comes out of nowhere.

"You are a very stupid girl, Emma Swan. Do you think that just because your heart is safe from me the rest of you is? Let me assure you, you are as killable as anyone." And to demonstrate, she blasts Emma again, tossing her to the floor like a bowling pin. Emma stands and walks only to be knocked down again. And again. "You have hurt my daughter, Emma Swan. Do you think I, her mother, will let you do that again?" And she blasts Emma again.

Emma wipes blood from her mouth and stands. "REGINA" she yells. And is blasted again to the floor. "REGINA"

Regina appears then. Only it's not the same Regina of the day before or Mayor Mills or anyone Emma has ever met before. That is the Evil Queen, even if she's missing the crazy hairdo and the sexy-goth clothes from the pictures in the book. That's someone with eyes that are not quite dead and a world removed from the woman that smiled warmly at her yesterday.

"What did she do to you, Regina?" Emma stands and walks to Regina, her steps never faltering. She climbs the steps and stands nose to nose with Regina, trying to assess the damage, trying to get a secret message from Regina, something like _I am being held against my will_ or any variation of it. But all she sees is the loving gaze Regina directs at her mother.

"My mother loves me, Miss Swan. Now, what are you doing here? What more would you have from the Evil Queen?" And Regina closes the gap that separates them, a malefic smile in her transformed face, a smile that promises pain. Emma reaches her hand to touch that face. No, this is all wrong. She came to visit the Regina from yesterday, the Regina that had saved her from certain death at the wishing well.

But as she would have touched Regina, her hand is transformed into a burnt stump, something ugly and unrecognizable. "Where is Henry?" Emma manages to spit out. With Regina it's always this. You reach out only to have your hand bitten off. It angers Emma. It angers her so much she gives up on Regina and settles for taking her son home. They can have another go around when she is feeling less tired.

Regina's face changes. It's almost funny the abrupt change, something cartoonish. And then Emma is flying again, this time all the way to the garden gate. "You have lost Henry?" And her fury is that of knives and fire and ice, all of them becoming a physical thing hitting and cutting at Emma. "You have lost my_"

As if realising a mistake, Regina stops her sentence as if she's said nothing. She raises Emma from the floor, not even a wrist flicker needed. Henry is not hers. He's not hers to worry over, not hers to suffer for. Not in front of her mother. Not in front of Emma Swan.

Emma dusts herself from the floor, always studying the mercurial queen, never realising there is nothing cut, burnt or damaged on her, that she has both hands. "What happened to you?" She whispers to herself as Regina retreats into the house, her arm draping over her mother's.

Emma knows something about that love of Cora's. She can smell it in the air. It is toxic and suffocating. And she understands why Regina would leave her mother, of all people, behind. She doesn't understand why Regina would succumb to it now, when everything is going so well.

_What happened to you?_

.

.

Gold studies Emma Swan, saviour extraordinaire. Silly, silly girl. She walks out of the mayoral mansion, tail between her legs. Saviour indeed. Whatever she saved, it was by happy accident.

He continues his walk making sure to cross paths with Emma. He stops in front of her. "Are you quite alright, deary?"

"I… I don't understand. She… I mean… yesterday she was…"

"Different?" He enquires solicitous. He makes a show of repairing the torn cardigan Emma is wearing, something out of her mother's closet, perhaps.

"Yeah… What happened?"

"Oh, you know…" he shrugs. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that…"

"Gold, I am not in the mood for this crap. Stop with the riddles for once."

"Ah… not in the mood for interpretations, are we, Miss Swan… Well," He turns to the house Regina and her mother have just disappeared into. "I'd say then, carelessness, abandonment, neglect… take your pick, Miss Swan. Any will do just fine."

"But I… I mean, Henry came to see her and I… I wanted to say thank you. I wanted…."

"I'm not sure what you wanted Miss Swan," Though his tone says exactly the opposite. "But the words _too little too late_ occur to me."

"Too late?"

"Indeed. Now, I would quite appreciate your help, if you wouldn't mind."

"Later." Emma tosses carelessly over her shoulder at him and turns to face the mansion, heart breaking though she does not really understand why.

_Too late? _


	2. Have yourself a merry little Christmas

**Author's note: **I was not going to continue this story. I'm still not sure I will. Right now, I am very disappointed in Emma. I want a better saviour. I want a better _good person_ from her.

This chapter is not really continuing "The devil you know". It is a stand alone in that universe.

**Author's note number two:** _Have yourself a merry little Christmas _is, quite possibly, the saddest of all sad Christmas songs. This story was inspired by it, but not just any old version of it. If you are so inclined, you might want to listen to Tory Amos' version. Because. I don't think I ever want to hear another voice singing it. Or any other piano playing it. Do you notice how snowflakes falling during the night sound exactly like that piano right at the beginning?

**Author's note number three (and completely irrelevant)-** There was an original version of the lyrics to this song. They were considered too depressing for _Meet me in St Louis_. When I wrote this piece, those lyrics kept on creeping up on me and so, there is a lot of the feeling of those words in here. I have added the original version at the end of this chapter.

Much love

Happy Christmas

Jane

* * *

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Let your heart be light  
From now on our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Make the yuletide gay  
From now on our troubles will be miles away

Here we are as in olden days  
Happy golden days of yore  
Faithful friends who are dear to us  
Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together  
If the fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough  
And, have yourself a merry little Christmas, now

~EQ~EQ~EQ~EQ~EQ~EQ~

Regina closes the door to her office and locks it. She locks it tight, makes sure that it won't open. The spell is strong, but there are never any guarantees.

She conjures up a fir tree, small, compact. It is the last bit of magic she will do in this office. She wants desperately to not use it at all in here. This is the space she preserves free of magic, the place that is safe from the Evil Queen, but there is simply no way to bring a tree inside and not… well. Yes. There is no way the Evil Queen could be out shopping for a tree or falling one herself. So she conjures one up. She is good with that. She is good with magic and that's it. She feels the power running through her, stronger than before. Bigger, better, faster, more. More destructive than ever before.

She looks at the small pretty tree. She managed to conjure something beautiful instead of destruction and that gives her a sliver of hope. It's Christmas Eve, after all. She will take that sliver of hope for tonight only.

She opens the filing cabinet and takes out the small box of ornaments. She sits for a while, feeling the weight of the box in her hands. Oh, she remembers. She remembers every single one of the last eleven Christmases with a vividness that she can only pray will dull, rust, lose its brilliancy and shine. There is only so much strength in her and she will need it elsewhere. She remembers the first tree she ever got.

_There had been no Christmas tree sellers in Storybrooke. There had been no decorations for sale, no Christmas traditions. But Henry was in her arms, his first smiles so big that they filled her house, her town, her heart. In another life, she would have simply cast a spell and there would have been trees and lights and trimmings with the snap of her finger. But Storybrooke was the life she had chosen, so she called up a meeting at the town hall and subtly planted the seed of Christmas in their heads under the guise of business and bottom lines. That first Christmas there had been a plastic, pathetic little tree she had ordered from eBay, baubles and tinsel and toys she had ordered from the first on line merchant she had found. Henry had been in her arms, tiny, snug and warm, watching the blinking lights until he had fallen asleep. And Regina had sat with him, warmth radiating from where his body touched hers, spreading warmth to the tips of her fingers and toes, to the recondite places of her heart, looking at the lights reflecting off his eyes and pale smooth skin._

_When the next Christmas rolled around, the whole town was illuminated, garlands and garlands of fairy lights wrapped around the trees lining the streets and illuminated banners with _Merry Christmas_ written on it in red lights, decorations in the houses and Christmas scents wafting from shops. People were saying Merry Christmas as if they had always done so. Henry was walking his hesitant little bouncing steps holding on to her hand for dear life, still fascinated by the blinking lights, gingerbread man soggy with drool in his hand, insisting she take a bite. She always did._

_Her house became a home. Christmas trees and holy wreaths, red poinsettias and childish Christmas carols playing softly. Toys under the tree, wrapped carefully when Henry was safely asleep in his bed._

_By the third Christmas she had started mentioning Santa Claus and his naughty or nice list. It seemed like the proper thing to do. That's what they said on TV. She wanted Henry to believe. She wanted Henry to have something bigger than himself to believe in. Not believing in anything was so very lonely. And now she had Henry to believe in. _

_They decorated a tree, one she'd commissioned Michael Zimmer to procure. It felt only fitting, though she was not sure if she was going for irony or sentiment. It was a huge tree and she had muddled through the tangled Christmas lights with a smile on her face simply because Henry was sitting on the floor surrounded by ornaments, waiting patiently for her to let him hang them on the tree, making what he was sure were reindeer sounds with each ornament that flew across the room. The ornaments had all been piled messily on the tree at Henry's height but she could not bring herself to change a thing. _

_They baked gingerbread men for the fourth Christmas and made a tradition out of it. She added a new ornament to the tree, a clumsy little heart cut from Henry's old pyjamas, stuffed with foam. That too became a tradition. Every year she would cut a new shape from Henry's old clothes and stuff it with cotton or lavender or potpourri and they would hang it on the tree. Each year the ornaments were pilled higher and higher on the tree as Henry grew. And when he started school, he started bringing in his own hand made ornaments, stars cut out of card board, cookie angels, papier mache baubles, tinsel tree topers, popsicle stick stars._

_She had saved each one, had searched online the best ways to preserve her treasures and gone to great lengths to do so._

_Each year, as she took down the tree, she saved her precious ornaments, wrapped in silk paper, layered between packaging foam. She put the ornaments away, treasuring each one and each year she had a Christmas to celebrate because she was never quite sure how long her happy ending would last. With her, the expectation was always of loss._

_The Christmas before last, she had dared believing that her happy ending was permanent._

She builds a fire with her own hands, pilling wood and kindling, lighting a match and blowing softly on the incipient flames. She cradles the little fire, builds it up and then hums a little Christmas tune. She takes each popsicle stick star, each papier mache bauble and hangs it with almost religious fervour in her conjured up tree. She spaces them evenly and adds the old felt ornaments she bought for Henry's second Christmas, the kind that would not cut his feet or hands if they broke under his curious hands. She hangs every single ornament on that small tree, fills it to the brim.

She is missing an ornament for this year. Buying one is not an option and she will not use any more magic in this room. That is her one stipulation. There's really not much point. Henry will never know that she is trying. That she is trying still. But that really matters little. She is trying still. So tonight of all nights she will be true to that promise. She is trying.

She looks around feverishly. She needs an ornament for this year. She will hold on to whatever scraps of the life she chose she can find. So she needs an ornament.

She grabs a sheet from her stationary set, a creamy heavy paper. She twirls it in her fingers until the answer is clear. She starts gluing sheet after sheet to that first one until she has a more consistent thickness in her hands and sits by the fire. Carefully, she starts burning out the edges, slowly burning out the excess paper, carefully pulling it away from the fire and returning until she is left with something that vaguely resembles a heart, a childish drawing of a heart. It is not much of an ornament. It's not much of anything really, but it's what she has. She grabs some thread from her stitching box and threads it through the now brittle paper.

It's not much to look at. Hardly an ornament, more like a stain in her tree of treasures. But she holds on to her little tradition and hangs it on the lowest bough of the tree, a wish turned paper heart.

She sits and studies her tree. There are no lights. She keeps them in the attic and there is no way she can bring them down without revealing herself. So she just sits back and studies her tree. It's a good tree. A good feeling. As god as it gets. For a little while, she lets herself believe that she has Henry. That they are together. Just for a little while, she thinks, she can let herself be happy. She can pretend to be happy. If she pretends hard enough, maybe she will be.

The fire crackles behind her and warms her body if not her heart. The scent of the tree permeates the air, diffused by the heat from the fire. She has not yet stopped humming the little tune and it's okay. She's okay, she tells herself.

She wants to conjure up a vision of Henry on the fire. It's a simple enough spell and she will be able to check up on him, to see what he is doing, if he is okay, happy now that he has his real mom. She wants to see him smile because she misses it. But she will not use magic in this room. No magic.

Instead, she grabs the only surviving photo from a locked drawer, tucked away between the pages of a dreary book certain not to draw attention to its contents. She will not use magic here no matter how much she wants to make sure.

She presses the photo against her chest and relaxes on the chair. She closes her eyes and thinks of Henry with all her heart. She doesn't have long left of this little Christmas of hers. So she just allows herself to feel warm and lets her heart soften, her anger coalesce, her sadness subside. She allows herself to believe that there is still redemption for her, a moment in the future when she will be just Mayor Mills or better yet, Regina Mills walking down the street with her son holding onto her hand. For a moment only, she allows herself to wish something for the future.

But her time is up.

There are light, light footsteps outside and then the door is creaking against her mother's invading spell. It was over sooner than she expected. She had hoped to be able to put her ornaments away, let the tree dissolve. Unable to destroy them, she simply hides the tree under an invisibility enchantment. She was never very good at those, but she tries anyway. She cloaks the tree and all its ornaments under the spell before releasing the door to her mother's probing magic. She takes the book of spells and feigns concentration on it.

Cora walks in as if the door had been unlocked and she had not just crushed through Regina's spell to check on her daughter.

"Mother…"

"What were you doing?"

"Reading, mother." And she shows the book, evidence enough, she hopes, for her mother.

"In the dark?" Cora looks around the room ostensively, because it is almost as dark as the snowy night outside, safe for the crackling fire, but really, she does it because she can smell an ill disguised lie and, she would swear, tree sap.

Regina can see her mother's eyes roaming through the room and tries hard not to let fear overcome her. She stands and places the book on the chair she has just vacated, drapes her arm through her mother's. "I must have dozed off, mother."

"You must be tired, dear!" It's a lie to accept another lie, and Regina knows it. There is no hint of threat now. They are past the point where Cora needs to threaten her daughter. They both know that the punishment, the correction is an inevitability. So Regina just guides her loving mother out of her office and into the library where she conjures up a tray with tea. _A lady never misses her tea time._ Regina is again the Evil Queen, her magic more powerful than it's ever been, but just a little less brittle.

Later that night, when her mother is in bed, she uncloaks her tree in the office, lovingly wraps each one of her treasured ornaments and layers them in the box. It's an afterthought, but she adds her burnt paper heart to the box and closes it, deposits it safely at the bottom of the filing cabinet drawer where she has kept it throughout the years. She dissolves the tree and walks way to her room. Christmas is over.

The window is open, the long organza curtains billowing in the cold winter wind and immediately she knows. Someone was in her room. Instead of alarm, she feels only hope. She looks around and on her pillow sits a star made of carefully assembled fragments of Styrofoam, light and white in her hand. There is a note under it but she hears feet in her garden and she rushes to catch a glimpse.

She had hoped - stupidly, she realises- for Henry. She had hoped to see Henry running. Instead, Emma in her ridiculous pompom hat is slinking away under a tree where she stops, instead of continuing to run as she should, given the fact she has just broken into the Evil Queen's room.

She takes the note and reads it then. It's Henry's handwriting, a messy scrawl that is not improving: _I love you, Mom. Merry Christmas._

Both Emma and Henry tuck themselves under the low branches of the trees at the edge of the garden as if preparing to wait. She takes a step back into the darkness of the room and watches them for a little while. Emma drapes her arm over Henry's shoulders and rubs his arm as if consoling him.

Regina just stands there and watches them, sitting in the bitter cold, staring at her window, mirror images of each other, the way they rub their hands to keep warm, they way they jaws set, stubborn, stubborn, stubborn both of them.

They stand, suddenly, and stare at her. Of course. She has moved forward, becoming visible to them and hasn't even noticed the movement of her own body. She hopes to any god that will listen they do not call her name. Mother is asleep and it's a really bad idea for her to even suspect they're here. Henry is okay. That's all she needed to know. Now she needs them to go away. Cora has an infallible instinct to detect anything, anything at all that brings Regina any pleasure or warmth to her heart. She needs them to go.

She raises her hand and it's more of a warning, really, because she does not need any gestures to do magic, but she raises her hand and the snow that was falling gently on the already white ground suddenly becomes a storm, right where they are both standing, still looking at her as if she was an apparition. It disguises Emma's footprints, but they bundle, stubbornly, _visibly,_ Henry into his coat and Emma into her jacket, against the snow and the wind.

Regina increases the speed of the wind and the snow is now biting into them like teeth and still they do not move. Soon all will be lost when Cora senses the magic outside the house. Foolish, foolish both of them. She raises a wall of snow that threatens to engulf them. They hold hands and stand their ground. The wall of snow passes them without leaving any other mark but a white dusting of ice on their eyelashes and their cheeks so rosy from the cold she can see the colour from her window. But they are still standing there, looking at her as if making a point of proving they are stronger than she is.

She is terrified now. She feels more than hears, movement on the other side of the corridor. She looks to her door and knows that if she locks the second door from her mother tonight there will be no lie big enough to cover anything.

It's that small movement of her head, the fear in her posture that has Emma reacting. Hastily, Emma draws a heart on the snow and looks pointedly at her.

Henry waves at her, blows her a kiss. And just as her mother is again walking in on her, they're gone, leaving behind that silly little heart drawn on the snow.

"Regina?"

"Yes, mother?" She turns to her mother, the Styrofoam star carefully hidden in the folds of the cardigan she is wearing, the note crushed inside her tightly closed fist.

"What are you doing at the window?"

"I think I heard something."

"Did you?"

"Huh…" The sound is non committal at best. "Foxes maybe." When Cora moves to the window, Regina tacks on, she hopes, smoothly. "Gone now, I think…"

Cora is not deterred. Regina has been hiding something from her the whole day. She'd rather not have to press the answer out of her, so she goes to the window to check and sees nothing but empty whiteness. She scans the night for a few more seconds. Regina's heart beats wildly. She knows the snow heart is still there on the ground and she is terrified.

But her mother walks out and she has to bite down the sigh of relief. No Evil Queen will come to her rescue now. The show is for her mother only: she closes the window without even touching it and come the next second she's in the silk pyjamas her mother disapproves so strongly of. The balance of power between the Evil Queen and her mother- as is their love for each other- is a difficult symmetry.

But when her mother is safely in her room, Regina opens the window again and looks out. Emma is finishing a heart where the first one had been covered by the heavy snow. She looks up and stops. Henry joins her there. Emma mouths _Merry Christmas_ and takes Henry's hand in hers, ready to walk away but she doesn't. They just stand there.

Waiting.

The Styrofoam star is in her hand again, summoned from the folds of her clothes. She feels its rough edges, the smooth sections. She feels the brief weight and considers the new life given to an old, used up thing.

_Merry Christmas_ Regina mouths.

Twin smiles bloom in the snow. The heart has again disappeared under the heavy snow fall. Emma's smile sets into a determined expression. Again she draws the heart, deep lines over the fading ones.

Regina nods. She understands.

_Merry Christmas, now._

* * *

ORIGINAL VERSION  
Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
It may be your last  
Next year we may all be living in the past  
Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Pop that champagne cork  
Next year we may all be living in New York  
No good times like the olden days  
Happy golden days of yore  
Faithful friends who were dear to us  
Will be near to us no more  
But at least we all will be together  
If the Lord allows  
From now on, we'll have to muddle through somehow  
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now


End file.
